Disturbance
by oldmythologies
Summary: Bruce visits Jason's grave, as he does every year, and realizes something is off. What happened to the boy who died?
1. Realization

Bruce visited the cemetery as little as possible, but somehow, that was still much too often.

He tried not to think about why he was there this time. He tried to focus on the sky, dark gray, as Gotham skies always were. He tried to focus on the biting wind. Pain. That was easier. He tried not to focus on the small grey headstone looming in the distance, getting closer with every step.

The existence of that small grey headstone was his greatest failure, and one of his greatest torments. A boy laid underneath that headstone because Bruce wasn't fast enough, he didn't help enough, wasn't there enough. A boy who struggled all his life, just to die alone.

Bruce took a steadying breath and walked the last few hundred feet to face the boy who died.

Just a few feet short, he stopped. _This isn't right, _he thought.

Jason's grave had most definitely been disturbed. Bruce swallowed his rage to assess the damage. There wasn't much damage. Just a small area, maybe four or five square feet of dirt that had been exposed sometime in the past few months. The center of the disturbance was caved in, with small mounds of dirt on either side. It had obviously been run over by whatever mowed the lawn, but not more than once. It had gotten cold. Grass wasn't growing this time of year. So, this happened sometime in October, Bruce guessed. Two months of his adopted son's death being disturbed. And he didn't even notice.

Bruce's fists, wrapped in expensive leather gloves, clenched. His thoughts scrambled.

_How dare they… My son…_

And so Bruce did the only thing one can do when in need of answers.

He called his family.

* * *

Alfred, as always, picked up a few moments after the first ring.

His stately tone was a calming relief to Bruce and his anger. "How may I help you, Master Bruce?"

"Someone has disturbed Jason's grave. Call Barbara."

Alfred blinked in response, his only sign of shock, and replied "I am sure that no one has gotten to him. None of the alarms have been triggered. Don't worry yourself too much, we'll have this all sorted out soon enough."

Bruce sighed. He closed his eyes, regaining his composure.

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Always, sir."

The phone clicked as he replaced it on the stand.

Alfred was somewhat accustomed to the life of his makeshift family. They fought, they got injured, but death was rare. The death of the boy who always tried to push the line, but was somehow always afraid of being alone, held a soft spot in his heart. He thought of the empty bedroom upstairs, sitting untouched for over two years. He still dusted, sometimes, simply because no one else would go in there, if not for him.

Yes, maybe his memories had been clouded by the boy's death, but Alfred still remembered how he yelled and screamed and tried to find justice in his own way, although it may have been a bit too violent and a bit too impulsive.

All of that didn't change the fact that the future of that boy had been ripped away.

Alfred straightened his lapel and went to call another victim of this life, of the Joker. Oracle.

* * *

Tim was normally much to logical to talk to dead people, but on one day he made an exception. Two years since his Robin died. Tim had been thirteen when he read the short article titled "Bruce Wayne's Ward Killed in Ethiopia". He had been thirteen when he became Robin, and had lived almost two years in the over-protective shadow of the bat.

That protectiveness was there for a reason. Jason's barely identifiable Robin costume still sat in a corner of the cave, well lighted, but far enough away from anything important that no one really had to look at it if they didn't want to. That was a bit how Jason's memory was treated. Like something sacred that no one touched or poked at too much. No one but Tim.

"So, because of you, I had to stay home while Bruce put the Joker back in Arkham."

Only silence responded.

"He's always afraid something is going to happen to me. You know, I'm the only a litte older than you were when you died. Lately he's been even more protective than ever. Same thing happened last year around your death day, but this year it's worse. I haven't gone out in a week. I mean, there is a ton of stuff to do here, especially with those kidnappings, but I know I'd be more useful out there.

"But one thing I've learned from you is to do what Bruce says. So thanks for that. Also, thanks for teaching me that kick you always use in your training videos. That one took out Ivy a few weeks ago."

Before Tim could finish his yearly monologue, Alfred came down the stairs.

"Master Timothy, we have some work to do."


	2. Burning

BURNING. Burningburningburningburning… Stop.

Nothing.

* * *

Dick Grayson was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he'd worn the scaly green underwear and quite a bit had changed. For one, now he had pants. He still wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. But a lot more than pants had happened in those seven years.

His old name had been passed on. Robin was no longer his identity, it belonged equally to three very different boys. It belonged first to Dick himself. He was the laugh and the hope that had brought Robin into existence in the first place. There was Tim, who was the intelligence and the drive that kept Batman, and Bruce, alive and (mostly sane). And then there was Jason. Jason who had been the burning life of Robin. The one who kept moving and changing and ended up with too much anger and love for him to hold.

Today, Dick was paying tribute to the kid that he had never spent enough time with in life. The one who at first wanted to be his friend, but eventually turned into a competitor for Bruce's affections. Dick blamed himself. Now, he just wanted to go back in time and give the kid a hug. Now, he wanted to teach him that double backflip instead of using it against him. Now, he just wanted his little wing back.

Over two years since Dick had spoken to Jay, and maybe nostalgia was getting to him. Dick didn't like to remember the silent competitiveness and violent fire coming from Jason. He chose to remember the kid who could barely read at the start of his time with Bruce but was devouring the entirety of Bruce's library three years later and never knew what to do with so much food and so much care.

It was this kid that Dick was ceremoniously reminiscing about on this day, two years after he died.

* * *

Nothing. Cold nothing? Warm nothing?

Nothing.

Burningburningburningburning shock.

_Please, please stop._

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

_Please, please stop._

_Breathe._

* * *

Tim looked up at Alfred, shocking away from the case.

"What, is Bruce alright?"

"I believe so, sir. But we have a new case." Alfred replied in his unchanging manner.

Tim's eyebrows pinched and he swung over to the computer consoles. As he started to bring up any news about recent crimes, Alfred stopped him.

"We are not yet sure a crime has been committed. It simply seems that someone has disturbed the young master Todd's gravesite." To the untrained eye, Alfred would seem completely unbothered, but Tim, detective he was, decided not to mention the extra wetness in the caretaker's eyes.

"Oh, alright. Bruce wants us to call Oracle, see what types of videos she can find?"

"Precisely, sir."

Tim nodded in understanding and went to make the call.

* * *

Oracle picked up the phone on the first ring.

"Robin, what's up?"

"Hey Oracle. So it looks like someone messed with Jay's grave."

Barbara swallowed her flash of anger and quickly responded. "Damn. Some people… So, you want me to see if I can find some video feed of whoever did it?"

"Well, you really are an Oracle. I'll send you Bruce's notes, call me back when you get something?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't take long." She hung up without any formalities as the file popped up on her screen.

It was just a few short notes, hastily typed by Bruce on his phone, she assumed. It read _Late October. Motive? None possible. Odd shaped depression. Digger interrupted?_

Most of that was useless to her in the moment, but she stored it away. Late October. She could work that out. Barbara knew where to look for his grave, as she'd been to his funeral. She remembered the funeral like it was yesterday. The death of the punk had hit her hard. She'd tutored him for four years and still liked to believe that she had known him better than any of the bats.

He was always angry at himself. At first, he was angry that he couldn't read. He was angry that math didn't make any sense to him and he had no grasp of history and that the scientific theory didn't mean anything to his young, unschooled mind. Then he was angry that he wasn't getting the grades he wanted and wasn't doing enough to help the place he came from. Then he was angry at the world. Jason, through all that anger, always wanted to learn. He wanted to get better. He was trying to get out of that past, the past that eventually dragged him to his death.

Barbara hastily wiped away the angry wetness pooling behind her glasses and got to work. Luckily, Bruce had put Jason in the nicest graveyard in the city, with cameras covering every possible angle. She started watching in mid-October, per Bruce's suggestion, on fast forward. She saw the change happen the night of November second. _Aha. _She rewound to watch the night a bit slower. It happened at around two AM. There was the lawn, and then it moved and… _what?!_

She watched it again slower. And then again, slower. And then frame by frame.

It was him. Jason. He… It was him.


	3. Revelations

Panic. Eyes open. _eyesopeneyesopeneyesopenEYESOPEN._

_Stings. Burns. Burningburningburningburning… _Doesn't stop.

Open eyes sting. _Burning. _He sees dark. He feels darkness. He smells darkness. Cold. Too cold. _So tired of cold no more cold no more cold no morecoldnomoreplease_

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHA_

Hears darkness. Too small too cold too hot. Hurts. Fingers hurt.

Scratch. Pain. Too small too cold too hot. Out out out.

Scratch scratch pain. Out out out.

* * *

Barbara knew what she was seeing, but she also had no idea what the fuck she was seeing.

A hand trying to claw its way out of the ground. A hand that was much smaller and much bloodier than she remembered. A hand that was followed by a kid. He was so much smaller than she remembered. He pushed his way out of the earth, and gasped in a massive lungful of air. The video had no sound, but she could hear him in the way he moved. She could see his wails and sobs so painfully that she had to stop the video. She tried to imagine the punk she taught how to read moving like that, and then she saw his eyes. Paused. A single frame, and she saw the complete and utter fear and pain and emptiness. It scared her.

And so, like she did with any information that scared her, Barbara passed it on. She called Tim at the cave.

He picked up before the first ring even started.

"Hey, what have you found?"

His eagerness inflamed the sadness she was suppressing, and she wasn't even trying to keep her eyes dry.

Barbara did her best to reply as briskly as possible.

"Is Bruce there?"

Tim hesitated. He must have heard the emotion in her voice. "Yeah… He just got back. Wait a minute?"

There was a shuffling for a few seconds at the other end of the line as Oracle prepared to send the video. Bruce (or was it Batman?) took over the call.

"Oracle. Tell me what you found." His voice was low and completely devoid of any animation. So she was talking to Batman. Good. Bruce couldn't deal with this today.

"I'm sending a video. Starts November second at 1:51. Also, sit down."

"Oracle?" Batman remarked questioningly. She hung up.

* * *

Bruce had been fighting Batman for control since he had seen that loose dirt. The entire drive back had been with knuckles gripped white on the steering wheel, and mouth pinched in Batman's characteristic scowl. He debated calling Dick, but somewhere along the way he realized that he didn't even know if Dick ever even _knew _Jason in any other light than resentment. Bruce just thought Dick wouldn't care.

_And besides, _Bruce reasoned, _he's busy. He has a life and the Titans. We don't need to bother him._

And so Batman drove in silence. He didn't even bother going to the manor first. He drove his fancy sports car straight into the cave. He was pulling up just as Tim answered the phone.

"Hey, what have you found?"

Batman was about to change out of Bruce's clothes when he saw Tim's face. He grabbed the phone.

"Oracle. Tell me what you found."

Her response confused him. Did she think he was so delicate that some punk teens being disrespectful would break him?

The video popped up on his monitor.

Batman, sans the cowl, sat down to watch and observe. He hit play.

There was a minute or so before anything happened in which the three people awaited _something _in tense silence. Alfred gave Bruce a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and suddenly it began.

The earth was moving, being pushed up. _Pushed up from underneath. _

Batman had been around a long time. Long enough to see heroes rise and fall and rise again. He hoped to whatever gods existed that he wasn't watching what he thought he was. He also hoped that it was.

Then the small, bloody had scratched its way out.

Alfred gasped, his body involuntarily moving away from the screen. His eyes stayed glued.

Tim just paled.

And Batman did absolutely nothing. Batman had gone. The second that Bruce had seen his son, Batman was gone. But Bruce, the man, the father, was pretty damn emotionally constipated as well. He didn't make any sound, he just got minutely closer to the screen and continued to watch, worry and sadness bubbling in his gut.

He watched as the boy clawed the earth away, and he saw the tremors wracking the small body. He'd forgotten how small the boy… Jason… had been.

Bruce was glad that the security feed had no sound. He saw Jason's face, and knew what it would sound like. He could hear the keening wail that he saw fall from Jason's mouth. In that imagined noise, in that tiny image on a screen, Bruce could feel what Jason felt, and it was pain. The boy knelt in his own blood and dirt, sobbing, and Bruce couldn't help flashing back to himself, kneeling in blood that wasn't his own, sobbing like the child on the screen.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand watching his son weep and scream. He looked so cold. Bruce, hiding his tremors, went to pause the video when he saw the screams abruptly stop. The boy gasped for air and held his battered hands to his chest. And then he got up.

Jason just got up and walked away.

Bruce's jaw clenched.

"Call Dick."

* * *

Hurt too muchHAHAHAtoo cold too wet.

_CANTBREATHE._

Can…? Breathe…?

Air is coldcoldcold_cold_.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Hurtshurts_HURTS_hurtscoldcoldHAHAHAHA need.

Need.


	4. Memories

Dick had always been way too sentimental. He liked to feel every little thing and he reveled in those emotions and quite simply, his ability to feel. He wasn't like Bruce, and he didn't like to choke down his feelings. He liked to smile and laugh and cry, and he liked to love.

He didn't know if he'd ever really lived the kid, but he loved the memory of him. So he liked to remember.

_They were in the cave, and had just put Joker in Arkham once again. Robin's laugh echoed off the walls and rang in every direction._

"_Bruce!" he exclaimed. "That was sososo much fun! Remember," he gasped in laughter "when he tried to release the laughing gas and I literally jumped on his face?"_

_He continued laughing, showing off all of the flips and kicks he had executed earlier in the night. " He almost got me too! But we were too fast. And Dick! That was amazing! I didn't even know that someone could do that many backflips in a row!"_

_Nightwing glared at the excited boy, his replacement. Batman did not even spare the kid a smile._

"_It was much too close. Remember, Joker _will _kill you if he can."_

_Jason was unfazed by this. "Yeah, but he can't!"_

_Jason kept giggling, his ten year old body not large enough to contain his joy._

Dick was tearily smiling at the ominous memory when his phone rang.

He looked at the caller ID. _Bruce Wayne mobile_. That was odd. This wasn't Batman calling Nightwing. This was Bruce calling Dick, his ward and sometimes son. His _estranged _ward and sometimes son. It wasn't that there was any hatred, but more of a mutual agreement to silence. Something had to have happened. Remembering the date, Dick's heart dropped. _Please, not another one… Let Tim be okay… _and he picked up the phone.

"Bruce?"

"Dick!" came Bruce's surprised response. Dick frowned slightly. Was his adoptive father was surprised he'd answered his call. That was saddening.

Dick went straight to the point.

"Bruce, what's going on?"

"We're not sure. I need you back in Gotham as soon as possible."

Dick jumped in his chair. "Wait, what? You need me back? What? Why? Bruce, what's going on?" he repeated.

Bruce's sigh crackled on the line. "Look, Dick… I know you were never really all that close to Jason…"

Dick's eyes widened. He had no idea what was happening. Yeah, it was death day, but why in the world would Bruce be calling about it. He waited anxiously through Bruce's pause.

"...but, well, we think he might be back."

Dick sat for a moment, uncomprehending.

"...Dick? Please, we don't know whe-"

Bruce was unceremoniously interrupted by Dick's wordless shout.

"Wait! Wait. Jason is… back? How? How do you know this?"

Bruce exhaled quickly and answered. "Oracle sent us some security feed from about a month ago, and it loo-"

"You mean he's been alive for a month?! Bruce! Where is he?! Why hasn't he come home?! Is he hurt?! Oh my god, he could be dead all over again!"

Dick continued to babble as he paced the room. He ran over to grab his things just as Bruce was interrupting his train of thought.

"Dick!" Bruce exclaimed firmly, fear evident in his voice. He was pleading. "We are very aware of the possibilities. Just get here."

"Yeah. I'm on my way."

* * *

So cold so tired.

Need. Need food need warm.

Can't remember.

Warm. Warm. Remember warm?

_Whereisitwhereisitwhatisit._

Can't remember warm. Can't remember home.

_HAHAHA_HAHAHAH_HAAAAAAAAA_

* * *

His conversation with Dick had left Bruce on edge. He had just vocalized all the fears racing through Bruce's mind. _What if he really is dead? _Bruce didn't have the strength to look more closely at that statement.

No matter what Bruce did or didn't know, one thing was sure.

He was going to find his son.


	5. Anger

Dick arrived in Gotham four hours after he got the call. Without even bothering to enter through the manor, he showed up in the cave in his civilian clothes, his Nightwing bag slung over one shoulder. Tim was scanning video footage from the area on the night of Jason's disappearance, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen.

"Tim!" Dick exclaimed. Tim was shocked out of his concentration. "Where's the big bad bat?" He asked with a smile. Everything Dick did was with a smile, no matter what was happening. It was infectious. Tim smiled right back at his older brother, of a sort.

"Oh, hey Dick," Tim greeted. "The bat's out scaring some goons, like he does."

Dick gave a short exclamation of laughter.

"Yeah. sounds like him."

With nothing left to say in greeting, Tim went on to the matter in hand.

"So, we still don't know much. Oracle hasn't caught any definite footage of him." Tim frowned, his brow furrowed, pausing.

"Yet. She's working on it. Bruce is out doing his thing, but he hasn't sent back any information yet. Really, all we know is that he was-"

"Is," Dick cut him off.

Tim looked at him with pity in his eyes, but went on anyway.

"-is, alive. Looking at the video, it doesn't look like he had help, but with our line of work, who knows."

Dick nodded. "Alright. So what do I need to do?"

"Bruce didn't leave any instructions for you."

Dick frowned.

"That doesn't sound like him at all. This must have gotten him really messed up."

Tim agreed. "Definitely. But you know him. Pretending he's fine while he takes out his frustration on some helpless 'informants'."

Tim gestured his head at the large monitor with Batman's cowl feed coming through on it. Bruce was yelling at some cowering figure, as per the usual.

"Alright. Should I head out to keep his head on or do you want to?"

Tim smiled, but stayed where he was.

"You go. I've got research to do here. Think you can keep from killing each other?"

Dick smiled, went up to ruffle the teen's head, and headed off to get dressed.

—

Batman was nothing but frustrated. He'd gotten nothing from any of his usual informants. No one had seen a black-haired, teal-eyed orphan wandering the streets. He really hoped that Jason was just too good to be seen, but that worried him.

_Why hadn't he come home? Why was he not being seen? Where was he?_

Bruce still wasn't able to ask himself the question that Batman had been considering since they first saw the footage.

_What if he's already dead?_

Just the thought had Batman moving faster, more angrily through the shadows.

He was dangerous when he got like this, he knew. He was more violent, hastier, and less level headed. He knew he needed to get his head on straight, he knew that he needed to calm down, but really, he didn't want to. His son could have died a second time because Bruce and Batman just weren't good enough or fast enough or there enough. He _wanted _to be angry at himself, because he deserved it.

And so he was angry, except his inward anger manifested itself outwards. He was angry at anyone who was in front of him.

And then Nightwing was front of him. Dick was in front of him. It didn't matter which, they were the same person. Completely and fully.

And so Bruce was mad at Dick, and mad at Nightwing, and mad at himself.

"Nightwing," he ground out. "What are you doing here." It wasn't a question, it was a reprimand.

Dick frowned in the dark, cold, and tremendously wet alley.

"You called me here, remember?" His head turned slightly to one side, like a confused puppy, and he smiled.

"Nice to see you, too."

Every word that came out of Bruce's mouth was low and raspy, the Batman voice clouded by emotion. That cloud was only detectable to someone who knew both Bruce and Batman _very _well. He was just too good at masking himself.

"You should be out trying to find something."

Dick started to shift on his feet. This didn't signify anything about Dick's feelings, as he couldn't stay still if his life depended on it.

"That's exactly what I would be doing if you were thinking straight."

Angry Batman did not like to be told that he wasn't thinking.

"I know what I'm doing." It was almost a shout, but justly barely quiet enough to be considered a statement.

"Yeah? Then calm down. Angry Batman will not help find him."

And the part of Batman that was still the cold, logical thinker knew that Nightwing was right.

He ground his teeth. "Fine," he growled. "Just get to work."

Nightwing rolled his eyes behind his white lenses, and smirked.

"Yes, mighty lord Batman," he replied, his voice dripping with lighthearted sarcasm, "where do you want me?"

"Crime alley."

And then the shadow was gone, and Nightwing laughed.

—

_stop looking stop laughing stop_

Warm homepeanutbuttercookiesHome?

Socoldcoldcold_cold_

Blood_eyes_blood

hahahahaHAHAHAHA_THWACKCRUNCH_HAHAHAHAhahahaha_haaaaaa_

Blood cold frozen

coldcold_cold._

_ Eyes everywhere._

_HAHAH_stop_hahahahahastop_HAHAHAHASTOP

_ EYES_

Home. Warm peanut butter cookies.

_Cold._


	6. Connections

As Dick jumped across the roofs on his way to crime alley, he liked to look down at the people, still going about their business at 2 am in the far below freezing weather. The closer he got, the less people he saw, and those he did see were either terrified, wearing close to nothing, or trying to hide themselves in shadow.

While he paid careful attention to those trying to conceal themselves and noted those that were terrified, he first talked to those wearing very little clothing. Prostitutes always knew what was happening on the streets (and rather liked Nightwing, but hey, didn't everyone?).

He leaped down from a fire escape and gracefully landed next to a woman in cracking red lipstick and a purple bra, which was mostly covered by a tight red dress. Her legs were exposed through the fishnet of her tights but even she had the good sense to wear a thick faux fur coat.

"You look cold."

She jumped, eyes widening, and shoved a clumsy hand into her bag for what he could only assume would be pepper spray, but immediately stopped when she saw who it was.

Her accent was heavy, her grammar was rough. and she smiled in what might have been a seductive smile if she didn't look so cold and tired, and replied "Nigh'wing, sweety. Long time no see, eh? What you doing down 'ere? I been hearin' that you're doing great up in 'haven, yeah?"

Dick, as he always did, smiled at her.

"Case brought me here. can you help me out?"

She pouted at him, and said "Maybe. Jus' no questions 'bout the job, 'kay?"

He nodded and continued with his query. "Do you know where the orphan kids like to stay at night?"

He had decided to take a different approach than Bruce. The simple truth was that people didn't notice these kids unless they had something to offer. And most of the time, no one thought they did.

She gave him an incredulous smile.

"You kiddin', babe? They're anywhere warm. Which ain't easy ta fin' this time a year."

She pursed her lips, finally giving it some thought.

"Ya know, I think some a them hang by that Chinese place on sevent'"

He beamed at her in thanks, and was about to leave when he saw her shiver and turn back to the street. He pulled a few large bills out of a small pocket on his chest, handed it to her, and was gone before he could see her reaction.

It took no time at all to reach the alley behind the aforementioned Chinese restaurant, where Dick immediately saw a group of kids on the cusp of being teens, huddled together for warmth. They shivered, even huddled as they were, but they all laughed at something one had said.

They started and collectively stood up when Dick landed in front of them. They all stood ready to attack, feet shoulder width apart, when the tallest made himself a bit taller and said "Da fuck do you wan'?"

Dick pulled his hands up in the universal symbol for "I'm not here to hurt you" but oddly enough, most of their muscles just tensed even further.

Dick didn't like that, but he chose to address the state of their conditions with Gotham's own vigilantes at a later date. For now, he just had questions.

"Don't worry," Dick said in his kindest voice, "I just have a few questions."

Tall kid put on his commanding face and quickly replied "Yeah? Why? What do you want?"

"I just want to know if you've seen a specific kid."

"Why? What are you going to do to 'im?"

Dick knew that there was no way to deal with this as the ominous vigilante the boy seemed to think he was. So he talked to him like a person.

Dick released his perfect posture and let himself sag against the wall. It caught them off guard and most released their posture in response. Tall kid, who couldn't have been much older than fifteen and was covered in scars. He glared, so Dick talked.

"Look, it's my little brother. We…" and because Dick was Dick, he told the truth. "We thought he died, but now, maybe he's back and he's so lost and we just want him back."

Tall kid blinked in surprise and replied. "You fuckers are crazy. Why the fuck would I 'elp you?"

"Because I just want to find my family. Please?"

A small girl who shared the same warm brown eyes as the tall kid nudged him, and he melted at the sight of those eyes. He closed his eyes, sighed, and looked back at Nightwing.

"Fine, what do ya want?"

Dick couldn't refrain from jumping in excitement and the kid rolled his eyes.

"Great! Have you seen a kid, probably around twelve, showed up like a month ago, bluish green eyes, black hair, about ye tall-"

Dick's description was cut off by the widening of all of their eyes.

Tall kid started to look shocked and pitiful.

Dick did not like that.

"Fuck. Man, that kid? Fuck. I'm sorry."

Dick cried out and took a desperate step towards the kid. Tall kid took a step forward, his hands out in a placating way, and he quickly continued.

"No! No," he breathed, exasperated. "Shit. Just, that kid, he's really, really fucked up."

Dick fought back tears of relief.

"And, well, you gotta know that his brain's not all there. But we" he gestured to the group "stay away. He's just… really messed up. And violent." Adorable brown eyed girl shivered, and her brother pulled her into his side.

"He sleeps in the actual crime alley, the one by tha' old theater some'imes, I thin'."

Dick hugged him, smiled at the little girl, and jumped back up to the roof.

—

Coldcold_cold_cold

So lonely. So afraid. so many _eyes._

Redeyeslaughing_hahahahahHAHAHAhaha_hahaha

_THUDCRUNCH_

_STOP WATCHING STOP LOOKING LEAVE_

burning

So _cold._


	7. Cold

The second Dick hit the rooftop, he stopped to com in.

"Tim?"

Tim's voice was clear as a bell through the link.

"_That's Robin. No n-"_

"Names in the field," Dick finished, with his excited energy at a higher level than usual. "Yeah I know. But Tim, I know where he is!"

Tim sat shocked for a moment. "_Where should I send Bruce?"_

"Crime alley."

"_Shit. Well, he'll be on his way in about ten seconds."_

"Awesome."

—-

Batman was holding some poor guy that looked vaguely like a rat by the throat when he heard Tim's voice.

"_Nightwing thinks he found him. Head to the crime alley."_

Rat man whimpered when he hit the floor, but Batman was gone.

It was only as he grappled between buildings that he began to consider what he would do when they did find Jason. And then he decided not to. This was his son, even more so since he'd been gone.

He really hoped he'd know.

—

Somehow, both vigilantes reached crime alley at the same time, despite the fact that Nightwing had been closer by about fifteen blocks.

"Where is he?" Not even Bruce could contain the hope and pleading in his voice.

"Some kids told me that he sleeps in this alley."

Batman looked down into the alley and couldn't hold back the flashes of memory that hit him.

_The smell of blood, blood on pearls, on his knees, on the street, mingling with grease and water and their eyes and-_

He stopped that memory in its tracks. Then another flash.

_His small face, gaunt, challenging him. Teal eyes, much too bright for a kid who probably hadn't eaten in days, determined._

_He held a tire iron in a menacing way. It was probably the most adorable thing he'd ever seen._

"But it's a long alley." Nightwing continued.

Batman stopped him.

"Follow me."

They landed in the exact spot that Bruce first met Jason. He remembered it so clearly.

_When he saw that the kid had successfully gotten three of the tires already, Bruce was equal parts impressed and pissed. He'd gotten past all of the security and he was what, six, seven? Probably older because of the malnutrition._

"_I'm not giving the tires back, you know." The kid had the audacity to glare._

_So freaking cute, the little shit._

_Batman glared right back. The kid was at least smart enough to look down for a moment of that. But then he looked back up and Bruce knew he liked this kid._

Batman smiled at the memory.

But no time for nostalgia. his _son _was somewhere, waiting for him. This time, he wouldn't be late.

Nightwing and Batman searched through the filth and blood, looking for any sign of the wayward boy.

Bruce heard Nightwing's strangled sob and was sure that his heart stopped. He raced over to see Dick recovering something the size of a kid with the blanket. It wasn't moving. Dick was crying.

_Not again. Not this alley, not this kid, not this death, not again. _Bruce yelled out into the darkness. Any criminal within three blocks knew that if you fucked with Batman now, you'd probably end up in a body cast.

Dick jumped up, and immediately ran to his father figure.

"No! Bruce, it's not him!"

But Bruce was already riled up. He was too late. _Again. _He had failed Jason in every possible way, and now he was probably dead. _Again. _He started to rip through the alley, cardboard and dead animals flying from their piles as Bruce searched. At the bottom of one pile, he found an old tire iron. Rusted to shit, but intact.

And then Batman started to cry.

No, Bruce started to cry. Silently, like the bat must. And Nightwing had no idea what to do.

And then Bruce started to laugh. Cradling the rusted tire iron that looked so much like the one little eight-year-old Jason had held, what was it, six years ago, now? He laughed, partially at the memory of the kid ready to face off against Batman and partially in hysterics

And then they heard a child.

Wailing in despair.

In their minds, they both matched up an image from a paused video to that noise. It was the sound of a child in unimaginable pain. Wailing for all that would never be and all that hurt in the world and knowing that it would never be fixed and crying out because this child had seen all the hurt the world had to give and knew that it would never _ever _get better and was so afraid of that.

Bruce stood up. The noise echoed off the walls into his ears and he struggled to keep his hands from covering them. The sound was coming from everywhere but it was his _son _and he wouldn't fail him again. They raced to the noise.

And then it slowed, quieted, and stopped.

Against the slimy walls of the alley, there was a shape, completely indistinguishable from the surrounded grime, save for two gleaming orbs.

Much too bright for a kid who _definitely _hadn't eaten in days.

Those orbs looked past Batman, but they still saw.

He screamed.

It was bloodcurdling, just like the last noise, but this one hurt more.

_His _son _was afraid of him._

Bruce hesitated. Dick did not. He ran up to the boy, still screaming, now looking directly at them.

Dick had never seen such abject fear as the boy tried to turn and scramble backwards. He tried. Jason tried to move away, but he couldn't. His muscles just wouldn't work and the boy realized this and just went back to wailing.

At this point Bruce ran up, wanting to touch the boy, confirm that he was real. When he did, his heart dropped. His temperature was so, so low.

Jason tried to claw his attacker and Bruce saw Jason's fingers, scabbed and bloody. His nails had peeled off and the sight of his fingers, which looked bothfrozen and damaged beyond repair, made Bruce want to cry.

Bruce picked up the screaming boy, now warm enough with contact to thrash about, and pressed the button on his belt that called the car. It appeared in seconds as Bruce held the child to his chest, wrapped in the cape for warmth.

Dick jumped in the driver's seat, Bruce and the child in the back, and suddenly they were racing through the town in desperation.


	8. Damage

A/N: Hello all! Sorry you haven't gotten an author's note from me yet, fanfiction's story posting system just confuses me too much. I'm having lots of issues with it. My life has gotten a little bit hectic, so I may not be able to post for a while. And this is just a plot chapter, not too exciting, sorry. I've got big plans for the next one, though. Stay tuned! Also, because I haven't posted an A/N here yet, you should all know that this is my first attempt at a fic and all critique is welcome. And TheCatsMeow8562, your reviews every chapter are adorable and they make me happy. Thank you!

* * *

The second that Tim heard Dick say "_We found him," _hastily over the radio, he called Leslie.

Alfred and Tim stood at the waterfall entrance and waited with bated breath.

The car came through and screeched to a halt. Suddenly there was a flurry of motion as the car opened and Bruce, completely ensconced by his cape, stepped out. He ran to the gurney Alfred had prepared and Tim got his first glimpse of the renowned 'good soldier'.

He was an odd mixture of blue, black, brown, and red. He looked like he was wearing a suit- _Probably the suit he was buried in, _Tim's mind chimed in.

He looked cold.

Jason was silent, unconscious.

He looked so hurt.

Alfred's face betrayed his shock and dismay at the state of the boy. He ran to grab the heated blanket that he had prepared. Bruce snatched it away the second Alfred was in range and covered Jason with it. Alfred also carried a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, which Bruce also took.

Bruce knelt down and started to gently wiped the face of the boy with more tenderness than Tim had ever seen. His cowl had been peeled off, and Bruce just knelt there, quietly hushing the completely still child with closed eyes, bulging in his hollow face.

No one wanted to break whatever spell had been cast, but then the good doctor came in. She came in through the manor, and she gasped when she saw the mess on the gurney.

She remembered him. She remembered him all too well. Jason always liked getting into trouble, even before he was taken in by Bruce. Always getting into fights and taking chances and then he ended up dead and now he was _here_.

When Tim called, she'd expected Bruce had been shot or injured or poisoned again. She hadn't prepared to see the dead again.

She immediately saw the hypothermia, the malnourishment, the trauma of digging himself out of his own grave, but under the dirt, she didn't see the scars. She couldn't see the burn scars covering most of his body, the bones that had been broken when he went in to the ground and were now healed at odd angles, the y-shaped line on his torso, where he had been ripped open and was put back together to be put into the ground.

She got over her shock with a shake and ran up to the boy. She pulled off the heated blanket and got to work cutting away his rotted suit while Bruce stood up, clenched his fists, and backed away. Leslie didn't need to look up to know that he was pleading with her in his own silent way.

_Save him. Please, _he said. _Save him._

* * *

_Shadows._

Can't find me can't hurt me. Can't find me can't hurt me.

_coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold_

Warm. Smells like warm.

_Fear sadness criiiiiieeeeeeeessssssssssssss_

_Can't find me can't hurt me._

Pain. Warmth's pain.

So cold

cold

_coldcoldcold_

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_nonononononononononon

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO_

cold

Looks so much like warm...

* * *

It was about two hours later. Maybe three. Honestly, Bruce had no idea how long it'd been. If anyone asked Tim, who had been watching the clock religiously since Jason was brought in, they'd know that it'd only been an hour and a half since the batmobile entered the cave. But no one asked Tim. They just watched and waited.

It was an amazing thing to watch Leslie work. First, and with the help of Alfred's gentle hands, she cleaned him off. It was only then that anyone really realized how bad off Jason had been. The dirt had been masking the shadows that hung to every facet of his small body. Looking at him laying there, Bruce had to quell the part of himself that kept comparing the gray and purple form on the gurney to the dead boy on the metal table he'd put in the ground years ago.

Dick was trying very hard not to pace or do flips or do _something_. He didn't like waiting, and he'd never liked waiting. His anxious foot tapping punctuated the silence.

And then, after many IV's and much care, Leslie faced them. She hadn't said anything that wasn't an order yet; all of the men waiting scooting even further off the edge of their seats.

She began, as only Leslie could when confronting the bats.

"What the fuck is going on."

Bruce brought his head down to his hands and pulled back up, his hands trying to scrub the emotion from face. It didn't work.

"We don't know. We… all we know is that he crawled out of his grave."

Bruce was quiet, but intense.

"We didn't even know until a few days ago. I think he's been out there for a bit over a month."

Leslie nodded, her strong but withering hands on her hips.

"Well that explains the hands. Dug himself out of his own grave…" She looked back at the shallowly breathing boy on the gurney and nodded again, with less anger and more sadness in her eyes.

"He's sedated, for now. I've put him on an IV for his nutrients, just because I don't know what we're dealing with. As for the hypothermia, there's still some blood running through his fingers, but I'm fairly sure there will be quite a bit of nerve damage. There are distinct signs of muscle atrophy. His muscles are pretty much falling apart. Impossible to know, now. How's his mental state?"

Bruce looked away, swallowed, and answered.

"He… I don't know if he's in there."

He swallowed again.

"He was afraid of me. I don't know. He's just…"

He trailed off, head shaking, and looked at the sleeping child.

"I just don't know."


	9. Remembrance

No one knew what to do.

Dick felt like a bad actor. He didn't know what to do with his hands, or how his face should move to reflect what he was feeling. The feeling was foreign to Dick, who was normally at home in his own skin. Now his sometimes home was too tight and stiff. His fingers drummed on the dining room table, where he sat with Tim.

Technically, it was breakfast. There was a vaguely defined ray of light coming from low in the eastern sky streaming across the heavy oak table. On this table was Alfred's usual spread. Oatmeal, fruit, and all sorts of protein. The usual food, but unusually untouched. The pile of bacon was still stacked high, and the oatmeal sat undisturbed. Dick drummed his fingers once more, pointedly looking at Tim.

Tim stopped poking his grapefruit with a fork and looked back. He raised an eyebrow. Dick raised his in response. Tim cocked his head.

"What?" he implored.

"You have to eat."

"Not in the mood."

More silence. Dick didn't stop looking at the oldest of his little brothers—formally the only little brother that was still breathing. Tim looked up at his brother, at his food, back to Dick, and back down. He opened his mouth a few times, and Dick just sat and waited. Finally, Tim was able to speak.

"What's he going to think?"

Dick blinked, the corners of his mouth pinched, and the little worrying crease in between his eyebrows appeared. Dick leaned over the table slightly, his forearms crossed and bearing his weight. He stared at the teenager. Tim felt his brother's eyes boring into his, and looked even more intensely at his untouched grapefruit.

Dick pulled his hand out of the crook of his arm and grabbed his brother's. Tim looked at the window, uncomfortable. His hand, however, stayed still but lost its tenseness. He closed his eyes, warmed by the sunlight.

"You know, I looked up to him. We were pretty much the same age, I think he might have even been younger than me. You, well," Tim let out a short laugh, "you were a god. But Jason… Jason was real. He was doing things for this city and I was actually there to see it. I hid in the shadows, he did something. I always wanted to be him.

"Then… then he died. Then I _was _him. It was everything I wanted, you know? To be Robin. Every kid in this city wants to be Robin, and I took it from him. And what do you think he'll think, the he _died_, the he was _brutally murdered_, and now you guys just put up a shrine and replaced him?"

Tim scoffed.

"He's not going to like that. I wouldn't like that."

Dick released Tim's hand and leaned back in his chair. He looked out the window, breathing in the warmth. Tim did the same.

* * *

Leslie had left a few hours before, with promises to return well rested and with a few ideas and medications for Jason.

Bruce had yet to leave his silent vigil. Because Batman didn't need sleep. He just looked at the boy, wrapped up in heated blankets. Jason's cleanliness did little help his appearance. It just proved that the shadows around his eyes, his cheekbones, his ribs, were real. The the darkened cool tones of his fingertips were hypothermia. His skin actually was that white, that lifeless.

Even as Bruce thought about, as he looked at the ghost-like skin, he hated himself. He wasn't _dead_. Not anymore. Not ever again. At least, not while Bruce was alive. He scooted closer to Jason and tucked his limp hand back under the blankets. The hand was slightly warmer than it had been. Bruce smiled in the best way he could. Really, it was just less of a frown, but that was still a major improvement.

He looked at Jason's hollow face, shallowly breathing, and his perpetual frown lessened even more. He was back, he was alive, breathing. He was going to be okay. He had to be okay. Jason was a fighter, a survivor. He may have doubted that whole "survivor" thing for a while, but look at that. Jason survived even death.

Bruce fought the urge to hold him. Jason was so small. Smaller than he'd been when he died, maybe even smaller than the eight-year-old Batman had found on the streets and that Bruce Wayne had adopted. With his sizable muscles gone, Jason was just a skeleton.

While Bruce was reminiscing, Jason's breathing started speeding up. Bruce scooted closer to the bed, wary, just as Jason's back arched. What was left of his body didn't quite shake, but tensed so severely that his body was forced into unnatural contortions.

Bruce leapt to his feet and did everything right he turned Jason on his side, made sure he was breathing. He relaxed, and Bruce turned him onto his back again. He felt Jason's forehead. High temperature. Seizure was the result of an infection. Bruce frowned, checked his IV, made sure the antibiotic was flowing, and sat back down.

As he was sitting, Jason's eyes lazily opened. He was trying to fight through the heavy drugs keeping him relaxed. Bruce grabbed his hand just as Jason tried to open his eyes wider. He whimpered, glanced around, and the whimpering grew louder, more confused. He tried to fight the hand, but in his weak and drugged state, he could barely move his eyes. Bruce could see how much this scared him. Tears quickly started falling. Whimpering was quickly turning into sobbing when Bruce acted on what was pretty much his only paternal impulse to date.

He lifted the crying skeleton off of the bed, blankets and all, and held him. Bruce supported Jason's neck like he would support a baby's. Jason shouted, fought, sobbed into Bruce's chest. In between sobs, Jason breathed in. And then the shouting stopped. The fighting stopped. Jason leaned into the smell and Bruce could tell by the additional rush of water on his shirt that Jason had closed his eyes. Bruce followed suit, closing his eyes, trying his very best to absorb all the pain emanating from Jason.

Maybe it worked, because ten minutes later the sobbing had stopped and Jason was asleep in Bruce's arms.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in updating! My life has gotten a bit hectic, but my spring break is just starting so I may have some time to get some writing done. No promises. Sorry, this chapter was sort of a repeat of the last one but there were a few more things I wanted said. Reviews/ideas on continuation are welcome! I have a plan for the rest of the story, but I'd love to incorporate some other stuff that you guys want to see. Thanks for sticking with me!


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